A Love That Will Last Forever
by eleanoralovesananias
Summary: Francis spends some quality time with his newest lover. But is this just another casual affair, or something deeper? Might this woman be the answer to Francis' broken heart? Human AU. Rated T for some mild violence, but mostly because I'm paranoid. I got all the French from Google Translate, so feel free to correct me. Warning: major character death.
1. Tromperie Pour Le Bien De L'amour

It was on the streets of Paris, just after dawn. The grey of the early morning was slowly blushing, giving way to a lovely sunrise of soft, blooming colors. The people were just beginning to spill out onto the streets, and among them was a lady.  
The lady was Mademoiselle Catharine. She wore a humble white dress, which did not begin to compare with other ladies' silk gowns, adorned with jewels and embroidery, and she was not the most beautiful woman. She was slightly fat and very plain, and her hair was brown as a tree-trunk. Only her eyes, which flickered green and yellow like cat's eyes, were much of a representation of the best of female beauty.  
She ducked into a back alley and began to whisper words of power, while drawing her hands over her head, her face, her body. Green mists coiled off her hands, and wherever they touched, that became beautiful. Her waist slimmed, her face looked smoother and more youthful, her cheeks rosier, even her stringy brown hair turned to a lustrous golden mane. Only her eyes stayed the same. Then she stepped out of the alley. She had an appointment to keep.


	2. Je T'aime Trop a Mentir

Je T'aime Trop `a Mentir

France waited, tapping his fingers on the table. He was sitting in a lovely cafe` under the Eiffel Tower, waiting for his date. She had promised to meet him here; where could she be? His heart beat painfully at the thought that she might not come.  
He silently scolded himself. He had never gotten too emotionally involved before; why was he starting now? Yet however he tried to convince himself, his heart throbbed to a different tune.  
Then he looked up, his spirits suddenly soaring, his heart as light as a feather, his mind overwhelmed with joy. He had not even heard her footsteps: somehow, he just **knew** that she was there.  
He smiled. There she was, looking purely radiant among the lesser beings in the cafe`. He stood, kissed her hand, and swept her into her seat with a soft repetition of "Bonjour, mademoiselle."  
She blushed, but smiled. They talked for a while, and then all of a sudden, without any conscious thought on either part, they were kissing each other. Catharine's guilt overwhelmed her. She could not deceive him any longer. She brought his hand up to her chest and whispered a word of power. Instantly the illusion spell that kept her beautiful disappeared, and she was left there, a fat woman with stringy brown hair and pretty eyes.  
She looked shyly, hopefully and apologetically at her lover. "Je t'aime trop `a mentir," she whispered. "I love you too much to lie. I'm sorry."

At first, France looked shocked; but then, to her surprise, he smiled. "Je t'aime aussi - I love you too," he whispered. "And the fact that you were willing to show your true self for the sake of love - that is a mark of true love." And then he was kissing her again, and they were both smiling.


	3. L'amour Est Un Jeu Nouveau Pour Moi Main

The two lovers sat at the top of the Eiffel Tower. The sun was just setting, and the view from their perch was unforgettable. The whole of Paris was spread out before them, as well as the incredible sunset, like a splash of colors delivered on a magic eagle's wing to fill the empty sky with light and warmth.  
Catharine, her hand on her lover, suddenly felt embarrassed and guilty, being such an ugly woman with the splendour of Francis Bonnefoy. Francis, easily able to tell her emotions by now, turned. "Ce qui est mauvais - what is wrong?" he asked.  
Catharine blushed. "I-I feel so... ugly, and... awkward."  
France laughed. She was a bit hurt, but then he took her hand and stood, pulling her to her feet. In a few easy strides he walked to the edge of the tower, and - to her horror - stepped up onto the edge. He turned and knelt, so that their faces were even. "Do you trust me?" he asked.  
Catharine nodded. "De tout mon coeur - with all my heart," she added.  
Her lover smiled gently. "Then come with me," he whispered. "When she drew back, he added, "You will not be harmed, I promise. I want to show you something."  
The lady hesitated, then stepped up to the edge. France took a deep breath, whispered a couple words of power, and then - whoosh! - they were off and away.  
Catharine slowly opened her eyes and saw that they were not, in fact, plummeting to their deaths; on the contrary, they were floating slowly down through sunset-colored clouds. She realized that France was taking her back in time.


	4. Il Y Avait Un Passe Sans La Beaute

They landed softly, feet touching the ground. Catharine looked around them. She blinked. Where was this? They were standing in a small, dirt street, in a tiny little village. It was the _ugliest_ village she had ever seen. The streets were filthy; they were crawling with rats and flies. The houses were ramshackle little huts, which, while it could be charming on an open little hillside, was positively revolting when they were all crammed together, looking like beggars lined up on the street, appearing to leer out at the newcomers.  
Catharine stared around in horror. It was awful. She clung to her lover's side, whispering in his ear, "What is this place?"  
He stared off into the distance, an expression of deepest sorrow on his face. "This is Paris," he replied. "Or rather, it will be."  
Catharine stared in awe at Francis, then around at the houses again. Abruptly, he turned on his heel and walked towards one particular hut. To Catharine's shock, they passed right through the door. She opened her eyes, which she had squeezed tightly shut, and saw a family as ragged as their house, sitting down to dinner at the table.  
They were an obviously poverty-stricken bunch, all wearing ragged and torn gray clothes. The father, with his bushy eyebrows and cap, pulled down over his face, looked like he had never in his life smiled. The mother was fat and ugly, but served the food with the best smile she had. The twelve boys and girls ate with a will, shoveling their food in their mouths as if they would never eat again. Only the youngest, the thirteenth boy, seemed in any way sophisticated. He had long blond hair, which was filthy, and ate with at least a semblance of manners. With a shock, Catharine recognized her own lover, Francis.  
The other thing she noticed was that the table was absolutely silent. Not a word of conversation disturbed the endless munching and slobbering of the children, or the glowering of the father, or the fixed (and obviously fake) smile of the mother.  
Throughout the next few moments (or was it years?), France showed his lover his dark and ugly past: being bullied and teased throughout his childhood for being a 'dreamer', starting work as an apprentice dye-maker, always dreaming, dreaming, of a time when there would be beauty in his life.  
As last the couple was standing at the base of an enormous structure; it was, Catharine realized, a half-finished Eiffel Tower. The young man who looked like Francis and yet not like Francis, stood at its base, accompanied by a very, very old woman, leaning on her cane. The younger France turned to the woman and said proudly, "See, Maman? I always told you Paris would one day be a beautiful city. Now it is almost finished. And this, this tower, it is for you."  
Catharine smiled. And when she smiled, the sunset colors returned, and they were floating up again, back into the present.


	5. Mon Coeur Bat Pour Toi Jusqu'à Ce Qu'il

As the lovers reappeared on the Tower, a young man watched them over his newspaper. His large eyebrows were furrowed in anger. "Frog face," he muttered. "You knew magic existed all along! Let's see how happy you are when your lover is dead on the ground." And as the couple left the Eiffel Tower, England stood, folded his newspaper, pulled out his gun, and followed them.

The two lovers walked through the streets, entwined around each other. Suddenly, there was a sound, and France whipped around. There, standing in front of them, a gun pointed at Catharine's head, was a young man that she didn't recognize. He grinned at Francis. "Well, frog face? You know why I'm here, hand her over!"  
Catharine was frozen in terror, her hands clutching France's jacket. She stared uncomprehendingly into the stranger's green eyes. His smile faded as France pulled out his gun. "Never," her lover told England.

They fired. At the same time, in an instant that would change life forever, the two men keeled backward onto the ground, dead. Catharine screamed uncontrollably. She fell to her knees, still screaming. Nothing would ever be the same again.


End file.
